


The Last Idyllic Summer

by WriterSine



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Gift Fic, Interwar Years to be exact, Summer, United Kingdom, WWII AU, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterSine/pseuds/WriterSine
Summary: In the summer of 1939, as the world hovers on the brink of war, Asami Sato meets and befriends Kuvira Smith, the new teacher at a local girls's school. As the months progress, an unspoken understanding grows between them.But these are turbulent times, and there are many forces outside of their control.





	The Last Idyllic Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [michellemagly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellemagly/gifts).



> WARNING: Because of the setting, the characters do discuss Nazis and their racism and antisemitism at a couple points during the story. 
> 
> If you'd like a little mood music while reading, I highly recommend any songs performed by Benny Goodman, Harry James, or Duke Ellington and their respective orchestras.
> 
> No characters are fridged. : )
> 
> I claim no rights to any of the characters of Avatar: the Legend of Korra.

“This is the BBC. Premier Joseph Stalin of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics has called for an alliance between the United Kingdom and United States. These remarks come on the heels of Germany’s annexation of Czecho-”

A shriek drowns out the broadcaster, interrupting Asami’s concentration. It’s coming from over the wall. Asami sets down her spanner and walks out of the open double doors of her garage. The building itself is actually a converted stables, all but abandoned on the northwestern side of the estate.

Asami steps onto a crate left against the wall and peeks over. The property next door is a school for orphaned girls owned by an eccentric, wealthy woman named Lady Suyin Beifong. Asami remembers when Lady Beifong bought and renovated the building about six years ago. She had been attending school on the Continent at the time, and never had the opportunity to get to know the staff or girls there, until now.

In the sunlit garden behind the school, the girls are milling in shorts and polos. Asami smiles; it must be time for physical education. Their teacher is a strong proponent of fresh air, Asami heard her say so when she arrived a week ago. She glances around for the woman and spots Kuvira Smith in the midst of a knot of children. Asami’s smile falters. A girl with dark brown skin and black curls seems hurt. She is no longer crying, but in the hushed atmosphere of the garden, Asami can hear her pained whimpers. Miss Smith speaks calmly to the girl all the while gently feeling and flexing her foot and ankle. Asami can’t hear what she’s saying, but as Miss Smith helps her student stand, Asami guesses it might be a sprained ankle.

An attempt to limp ends in failure, and Miss Smith scoops the child up, carrying her to a bench near the wall. After settling her and sending a student in for ice, Miss Smith looks up. Her gaze meets Asami’s, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a half-smile. She raises a hand in greeting. Blushing a little at being caught spying again, Asami waves back. She steps down from the crate and returns to her garage to tidy up. The last thing she does is turn off the radio before striding back to the big house to write invitations.

>.>

Later that week on Saturday, Lady Beifong and her teachers come to tea.

“Miss Asami Sato, allow me to introduce my school’s newest instructor, Miss Kuvira Smith,” Lady Beifong says.

“It’s a pleasure, and please feel at liberty to call me Asami,” Asami says, offering her hand.

“The pleasure is mine, and you are welcome to call me Kuvira,” Miss Smith replies and takes it. Her grip is firm, almost like that of a gentleman. But she doesn’t crush Asami’s hand, instead it is a strong, forthright handshake. Asami can tell by the way Kuvira looks her in the eye that she’s not ashamed of it either; take me or leave me her gaze seems to say. She also notices the flicker of surprise that crosses Kuvira’s face as she discovers Asami’s calluses.

Kuvira is shorter than Asami expected. But, then again, Asami is taller or as tall as most men. It surprises her a little because all that she’s seen of Kuvira suggests strength, athleticism, and an air of surety. Kuvira is dressed in a smart jacket and skirt of forest green. She wears her dark hair braided and pinned at the back of her head instead of in one of the latest curled or bobbed fashions. Under one deep green eye is a beauty mark that Asami likes. It’s like a personal accent, making her not just beautiful but striking. The winged black brows contribute to that. Her skin is a light, sun-kissed color. Looking into her face, Asami wonders if Kuvira is of mixed race like her. There is something in the shape of her eyes, the color of her skin that suggest it, but Asami knows better than to ask.

She lets go of Kuvira’s hand and turns, gesturing through a pair of French doors. “We’ve been lucky enough to enjoy such lovely weather this April. I thought we could take tea on the terrace.”

Once seated with Lady Beifong on one side and Kuvira on the other, tea is served, and conversation turns to local matters and London doings. Eventually the teachers break into small knots of conversation. Asami turns to Kuvira, “How did you come to work at the school?”

“I was orphaned at eight and Lady Beifong took me in. She sponsored my education, and when I reached majority she offered me a job here in her country school. I’m lucky to have a patron in her,” Kuvira says, fondness in her tone.

“I’m lucky to have such a talented, dedicated young woman for a student,” Lady Beifong says with a warm smile. To Asami she adds, “As with all my teachers, when Kuvira decided to come work here I came down ahead to see how she settled in. Then it’s back to London for me.”

“What do you teach?” Asami asks Kuvira, setting her empty teacup on the table.

“Physical education, self-defense, elocution, and dance,” Kuvira replies.

“You’ve studied the art of self-defense?” Asami asks.

Kuvira stiffens a little. “Yes, it has been my experience that a woman needs to know how to protect herself. Should the need arise.”

“That has been my experience as well,” Asami replies warmly. “I haven’t had the opportunity to practice with anyone since I started finishing school six years ago, however.”

Kuvira’s posture relaxes. She leans forward and says, “If you’re not too busy, you would be welcome to come assist during one of my classes. It would be helpful to have a partner, and I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself,” Asami says with a wink.

“Asami, what are your plans now that you’ve finished with school? Work? Marriage?” Lady Beifong interjects.

“I’m seriously considering attending Cambridge University,” Asami says.

“Oh, do you seek a bachelor’s of the arts or teaching?”

“No, I want to read mechanical engineering,” Asami replies.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you. The universities are boys’ clubs as it is, engineering even more so,” Lady Beifong says, a wry twist to her mouth.

“I’m used to it,” Asami says with a shrug.

“Well, write to me if you decide to take the plunge,” Lady Beifong says. “I know the mistress of Girton College and am happy to put in a good word for you. It’s important for a young woman to know what she wants out of the world.”

“Thank you. My father is a Cambridge man, so I think I have a foot in the door, but every little bit helps. There really is nothing else I would rather do. Lately, I’ve been experimenting with the clutch and synchomesh gearbox on the Alvis I bought earlier this year.”

“Do you really know how to drive?” Kuvira asks, leaning forward, her deep green eyes wide.

“Yes, I’ve been driving for three years now,” Asami replies with a smile. “It’s thrilling.”

“I thought so.” Kuvira’s lips curve into a smile of satisfaction.

Asami blinks, confused.

“When our maintenance man came to pick me up from the station,” Kuvira explains, “a woman in a bright red Alvis roared passed us in that lane just beyond the wooded stretch of road. I only just caught of glimpse at the time. But later when I saw you peeking over the wall on my first day, I wondered if it was the same person.”

Asami blushes. “Yes, that was me. I was just coming back from the village. I had my goggles on and a scarf over my hair, so you wouldn’t have gotten a good look at my features. I hope it didn’t seem like I was trying to run you off the road.” She brushes her hair away from her face, feeling a little self-conscious.

Kuvira’s gaze follows the motion, making Asami blush harder. “You, you don’t have difficulty handling that great big vehicle?”

“No, it’s very easy once you get a handle on it. Would you like me to teach you?”

Kuvira hesitates a moment, then she says, “As much as I would like to take you up on that offer. I have my classes to consider.” She releases a small sigh. “I have one half-day and one day off a week. So I wouldn’t be able to practice much, and I don’t have a motorcar myself. I appreciate the offer, however.”

Asami covers her eyes with her hand briefly. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Of course, you don’t have an abundance of leisure time. I understand if you would rather take that time for yourself.”

Kuvira leans forward, her hand half-extended as if she were going to touch Asami’s arm, then she lowers it to her own lap. “I would like to learn, it seems like a useful skill. But I wouldn’t be a good student. I don’t want to waste your time.”

“Life out here in the country is slow. Except for a few social engagements, I have nothing but time on my hands,” Asami says, smoothing the skirt of her lavender day dress. “As long as it isn’t an inconvenience, I would be happy to teach you.”

Kuvira’s gaze flits from Asami’s face down to her own hands clenched in her lap. Then she visibly relaxes. The clean, crisp line of her shoulders in that jacket bends. With a small smile on her face she says, “You’ve worn me down. I accept.”

They settle on tomorrow, the morning of Kuvira’s day off.

<.<

“I hope you don’t mind, I let myself into the grounds,” Kuvira says when she arrives the next morning.

Asami shades her eyes against the morning sun streaming in through the garage doors. Kuvira stands just in the doorway, dressed in slate grey overalls and a patterned blouse. “Not at all, come in,” Asami says, “I was just about to drive to the gate and look for you.”

Kuvira nods and eyes the cherry red Alvis two-seater with it’s top down, and 1936 black Bugatti coupe parked on either side of the garage. “Are we driving one of these?” she asks.

Asami puts her hand on the door to the Alvis. “I thought we would take this one. I’ll drive it first, show you the ropes, then you can give it a try on our way back.”

Kuvira nods and gets in. “Where are we driving to?”

“How about to the village and back? This is the ignition.” She inserts the key and turns it. The engine rumbles to life, then settles into a purr. The BBC comes on over the radio. She shuts it off. Asami points to each gauge, pedal, and lever, outlining their purposes. Kuvira repeats them back to her, eyes intent on Asami’s moving hand. Asami shifts into gear and applies her foot to the acceleration. They glide out of the garage and down the drive, Kuvira watching Asami’s hands on the wheel. When the reach the lane, Asami opens the throttle and the car surges forward with a roar. Kuvira gasps and clutches the dash with one hand and the handle on the door with the other.

Asami laughs, her long hair flying off her shoulders. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Do you always go this fast?” Kuvira asks.

Asami slows a little and glances her. “We’re not going too fast, and I don’t expect you to try on our way back. I just wanted to give you a taste, you’ll get more comfortable once you get used to it.”

Kuvira lets go the of the dash, but keeps a grip on the door. A lock of her dark hair by her temple has come loose and flutters in the breeze. Asami returns her eyes to the road and starts explaining the rules of driving.

On their way to the village, Kuvira listens with a gravity that surprises Asami. It’s as if she is determined to memorize everything. She asks questions too, and seems to deeply consider the answers she receives. Asami would be tempted to say that Kuvira is all business, but for the small smile on Kuvira’s face as she watches the road disappear under their tyres.

Once they reach the village, Asami slows down to a slow cruise. Her Alvis stops on a dime. She should know, she tuned up the brakes herself last week, but there’s a lot of bustle in the village.

“Good morning, Miss Sato,” Constable Armstrong says as they pass him on his bicycle.

She waves. “Good morning, constable.”

As they pass through the village, the post boy; newspaper gang, a pair of twins name Sally and Tom, coming back from their route; Mrs. Taylor, the mayor’s wife; and the vicar all call out greetings.

“Do you know everyone in the village?” Kuvira asks.

“Most everyone. We’re the richest family in the county, if not the oldest. Back when my parents bought the estate, shortly after their marriage, they had to work hard to fit into the village. Especially because we’re not very English, at least Dad and I aren’t.” At Kuvira’s raised eyebrows she adds, “It’s OK, I don’t mind. The name, Sato, makes it pretty obvious. My father is Japanese. Mum was English. After Dad came to England to try and make his fortune, they met and fell in love. When they settled here for a country estate, Mum did most the work, integrating them into the local society. Dad was usually away to supervise the construction or acquisition of his plants. But when you’ve got patience for village politics and a lot of money, eventually people decide that maybe you’re all right,” Asami replies as she parks near the market.

“I see. Where is your mother?” Kuvira asks, her voice quiet.

“She died in thirteen years ago, when I was six,” Asami says and gets out of the car.

They walk toward the shops in silence until Asami stops outside the ice cream parlor. “I thought I might buy some sweets for the girls when I come to self-defense class. Sweeten my way a little. Would that be permitted?”

Kuvira huffs a soft laugh. “I think so, as long as it doesn’t become habit. Then you would have to ask the headmistress.”

Asami smiles. “Do you know what kinds they might like?”

“Pear drops, peace babies, and parma violets are probably a safe bet,” Kuvira says as they go inside.

After consulting Kuvria about her class size, Asami buys enough so the girls can have two different pieces each. As the shop boy measures out the candy, Asami glances at Kuvira, “I’ll treat you too. What would you like?”

“Thank you, but I’ll buy my own candy,” Kuvira replies.

“Will that be everything, Miss Sato?” the shop boy asks, setting the packaged candy on the counter.

“I would like five pontefract cakes and two gobstoppers, please,” Kuvira says.

They return to the Alvis with the candy and Asami reverses the car out into the lane before making Kuvira switch places with her. After talking her through the use of the clutch and shifting gears, Kuvira drives them out of the village.

The two of them are quiet on the way back. Kuvira is concentrating on driving, her manner deliberate and wary at first. Occasionally the silence is broken by an observation from Kuvira, “The steering wheel is more responsive than I imagined”; or an instruction from Asami, “You’ll want to slow down here, we’re approaching an intersection”.

Once they return to Asami’s garage, she hops out and guides Kuvira through backing the Alvis up and parking. Kuvira returns her keys and Asami walks her back to the gate.

“Thank you, Asami. That was fun. I would like to do it again, if it’s OK with you,” Kuvira says.

Asami nods. “I enjoyed it too. You’re a good student.”

“You’re a good teacher.”

“Kuvira, I’m not trying to buy your friendship or anything like that,” Asami says before she can stop herself. She blushes. Kuvira’s cool words from the ice cream parlor have been rattling around her mind like coins in a jar.

Kuvira goes very still. After a pause she says, “I didn’t think you were. It’s just- I have never had a friend who is as wealthy as you are. It takes a little getting used to.”

Asami opens her mouth but Kuvira interrupts her. “It’s different with Suyin, Lady Beifong. She doesn’t use her wealth to make grand gestures. She just is wealthy. Generous, certainly, but not-”

“Ostentatious?” Asami supplies, her tone dry.

Kuvira looks down. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m sorry.”

Asami shakes her head. “I won’t deny that money has made my life easy. That’s why I like to do things for other people, because then maybe their lives are a little easier too.”

Kuvira nods and meets Asami’s gaze, and suddenly Asami feels transfixed. “I think the girls will love that you thought of treating them,” Kuvira says, her tone gentle. She blinks and Asami feels as though she can breathe again. “While we’re on the subject,” Kuvira adds, “how do you know I don’t want to be your friend just because you’re rich?”

“I’ve been around people like that before, you don’t act like them. If I had taken one of them driving, they would hear me without listening. You listened. And you don’t treat Lady Beifong like that, either, like you only care about her money.”

Kuvira nods again and visibly relaxes. Then she favors Asami with her small smile and reaches into her pocket. “I should take my leave, but before I do, would you like a gobstopper?”

>.>

Even with the treat of candy, it takes Kuvira’s students two weeks of Asami showing up during self-defense class for them to warm up to her.

It’s the middle of May when Kitty, who is still on crutches for her ankle, asks in her Londoner accent, “Miss Sato, is it true you’re teachin’ Miss Smith to drive?”

Asami, sitting next to her on the bench as they take a brief rest, nods. “I have my own automobile. It’s parked in my garage just over there.” She jerks her thumb at the wall behind them.

“My daddy used to work in a garage. Do you fix cars too?”

“I do.”

“You do not,” exclaims another girl, Theodora, looking up at them from her seat on the grass. Her blonde pigtails bouncing, her expression is shocked, almost scandalized. “It’s dirty an’ you’re so pretty an’ fine.”

“Pretty ladies and fine ladies can learn about automobiles,” Asami says. “I services all my cars myself. It isn’t just for boys.”

“Can you show us?” asks Bridget, in her lilting Irish brogue. There’s a hunger in her eyes, as if she hasn’t eaten in days and Asami just promised her a three course meal.

Asami smiles, feeling a little uncertain. “I can’t make any promises, I would have to talk to Miss Smith and your headmistress first.”

Before she can finish the sentence, Bridget and some of her friends pelt over to where Kuvira is sitting with some other students.

In the end, being so close to the end of term, it becomes part field trip, part holiday.

On the appointed day in late May, the girls and three of their teachers arrive, wearing their best dresses. Even Kuvira sports a dress of light green patterned with white flowers. Asami, in her coveralls with her hair tied up and covered by a scarf, represses the urge to sigh. Kuvira catches her eye and offers an ironic half-smile and a shrug. Asami guesses that she tried and failed to persuade the headmistress as well. Resolving to do her best to keep them clean, Asami smiles at the girls as they stream around the Alvis parked outside and into her garage.

Her tour becomes a show and tell of the different tools and engine components. She describes and demonstrates basic mechanics. Finally, she asks Kuvira to start the Alvis as she folds back the bonnet so that the girls can observe a working engine. The girls are attentive and ask questions. A couple, including Bridget, stare at the tools on her workbenches as though they are in the Tower gazing at the crown jewels. Looking at them, Asami wishes there was a way she could’ve made the trip more hands on.

The trip concludes with a special tea in the big house. Asami stays for a cuppa and a little cake, but sneaks away when the ices are brought out.

Kuvira finds her in the garage, putting things away and listening to a jazz orchestra on the radio. “Thought I would find you here,” she says, walking in with her hands clasped behind her back.

Asami smiles shyly and blows a lock of hair away from her face. “Leaving things a mess makes my hands itch. Is it time to say goodbye?”

“Not yet.” Kuvira steps forward and tucks the hair back under Asami’s scarf. “Mrs. FitzAdam is still plying everyone with sweets. At this rate, they’ll spoil their dinner.”

“Mrs. FitzAdam’s children are grown up, she has no choice but to dote on everyone else's,” Asami replies, trying to calm her skipping heartbeat.

Kuvira smiles. “She’s a kind woman.”

As Asami packs away her wrenches, the music ends. They listen to the broadcaster reading off headlines. When he describes a national socialist rally in Manchester turning violent, Asami turns it off.

“Idiots, what did they expect? No one wants to hear their poison,” she mutters with a frown.

After a beat of silence, Kuvira says, her tone cool, “It’s the strong rhetoric. When times are hard people will listen to anyone who promises to make things better. That’s why people keep going, even now.”

“Only fools and bullies are attracted by that kind of talk,” Asami replies, boxing up a spare carburettor.

“You’re talking about Hitler,” Kuvira says. “But those people in Manchester just want stability. They're looking for it in the wrong place, but we’re still in a depression. They just want to stop feeling powerless and afraid.” Something in the way she says the words--half deprecating, half bitter--makes Asami turn to her. Kuvira is looking out the open doors, her body as unmoving as a statue.

“They’re almost as bad as he is, then.” Asami says. “When I was at finishing school, I had a friend named Susanna Weintraub. Susanna Vogel, now. She’s a year older and German, and she told me what was going on there. How bad it was when the stock market collapsed, but how once Hitler came to power, people went from suffering to afraid. After that pogrom in November of last year, her parents told her to stay in France because it wasn’t safe to come home. The Nazis don’t want stability, Kuvira, they want to crush everyone else under their boot.”

Kuvira turns to her then, dark brows drawn together and her mouth a grim line. Her reply comes as a snap, the words flinty: “I know that. And I think that Chamberlain’s appeasement of Hitler is a bad idea. But you can’t understand what it means to be powerless, Asami. Wondering where your next meal is coming from, or whether you can trust the people around you not to kick you out too, or beat you. Desperation changes people. They just want to make their lives better and so they sometimes do things they regret.”

Asami tenses as if Kuvira’s words were a slap. “I may have never suffered poverty or homelessness, but I do know what it’s like to be powerless, Kuvira. Even if it’s not in the same way. I also understand the difference between who is accountable, and who is just an innocent bystander.”

Taut silence stretches between them. Asami grabs a rag and starts wiping off her hands, even though they’re not really very dirty. “If you’ll excuse me. I should attend to my guests.”

Kuvira nods once and leaves, taking the long way back to the big house. Asami is already in the parlor, chatting and thanking everyone for coming, by the time she gets there. When the girls and their teachers make their goodbyes, Asami gives her a polite but short farewell. Kuvira nods and hesitates, opening her mouth to speak. Then she closes it and walks away.

Watching them go, Asami wonders whether whatever empty words Kuvira might have said would have hurt less than stony silence.

The rest of the week drags. Self-defense class was the day before the field trip, which means Asami is left to her own devices. She pays a couple of social calls, and gives the Bugatti an oil change. It rains for two days. Her father calls to say he’s coming up from London on Sunday.

Sunday is Kuvira’s day off. The day they would have gone driving. After the fight, Asami doubts Kuvira will want any more driving lessons from her. Her anger has cooled into misery and bewilderment. How an intelligent, confident, strong woman like Kuvira could even consider anything those national socialists say...Asami can’t wrap her head around it.

Asami sits in her garage, drawing designs for small mechanical devices that can be easily disassembled and reassembled. The idea came to her during the field trip. On occasion she hears the girls playing during recess, or exercising under Kuvira’s direction. At those times she doesn’t go to the wall and peek over, she just turns her radio up louder.

On Sunday, she starts crafting a few of the pieces for a prototype. She’s shaping a lever when someone knocks on the garage door. Asami turns off the grinder and pushes up her safety goggles.

Kuvira hovers just inside the open doors, weak mid-morning sunlight shining in around her. She’s wearing forest green trousers and a fawn-colored, short-sleeved blouse. Her hair is braided but unpinned, and hangs down her back. A lock by her temple is loose, curling down beside her cheek. Asami finds herself momentarily struck at how soft she looks.

“I came to apologize,” Kuvira says and swallows. “Would you like to take a drive? I brought a picnic lunch.” She holds up a covered basket.

Asami nods, then says, “Just let me clean up a little first.” She tidies up her work, takes off her coveralls, then runs back to the big house to wash her hands. When she returns with her hair loose and a picnic blanket folded over one arm, Kuvira is looking at the designs pinned to the corkboard above her workbench.

“These are really clever,” she says with a faint smile. “Bridget, Kitty, even some of the girls who think machines are too dirty, will like them.”

“I’m afraid they won’t get to play with them before next term starts,” Asami says.

“The girls will still be there over summer and willing to try them out if you need testers. It’s not like they really have anywhere else to go,” Kuvira replies quietly, still looking at the designs.

Asami hugs herself, the blanket wrapped between her arms. “Kuvira, about last week…”

Kuvira turns her gaze to her, deep green eyes are full of regret. Asami’s arms tighten.

“I’m so sorry, Asami, for everything I said. I would’ve come sooner but I couldn’t get away from the school. It half drove me mad, hearing your radio and knowing you were just over that stupid stone wall, wondering if you hated me.” She looks down. “This has been the most miserable week I’ve had in a long time.”

“I’m sorry too-” Asami says but Kuvira holds up her hand.

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for. I owe you an explanation but it’s kind of a long story. If you want to hear it?”

Asami looks at the basket. “Over lunch?”

“I figured it was the least I could do.”

They get in the Bugatti, just in case it rains again, and Asami drives them to some fields just down the road. It’s property her father leases, but the farmer is leaving it fallow this year. They park on the shoulder and walk to the top of a small, nearby hill. Lunch consists of jam sandwiches, cheese, peeled carrots, and two bottles of lemonade.

After eating half a carrot, Kuvira says, “About four years ago, I went to a national socialist rally in London with Lady Beifong’s son Bataar Jr., out of curiosity more than anything. Stupid adolescent stubbornness. Suyin told us not to go but we were determined to see for ourselves. They,” she hesitates, gazing at the swaying grasses around them. “They make such big promises. I wanted to see if there was anything to them.”

Kuvira shakes her head and looks into Asami’s face. “There’s not, of course. Just a lot of anger and blame. And I started to realize, if they knew the truth about me- Like you, I’m of mixed parentage, only the other way around. My father was from Liverpool, red hair, freckles,” she waves at her face, “green eyes. But my mother was, is-” Kuvira shakes her head and laughs without humor. “I don’t even know if either of them are still alive or not. My mother was Indian and Chinese. I can pass, so I don’t make an issue of it most of the time, it just makes things easier, you know?” Her eyebrows are drawn up and together, her expression begging Asami to say yes.

Asami nods and tucks her hair behind her ears. “There were a few times in Paris when no one made a fuss about my looks or last name. It was nice. But living here, it’s not something I can easily escape, so I don’t usually try.” As Kuvira takes a drink of lemonade, she asks, “Can I ask what happened to your parents?”

“When I was seven my father left us. He’d been in and out of work, and he drank too much, I remember that. Anyway, he decided to leave London and go back to Liverpool. Mum and I scraped by until one day she took me to the local orphanage.” Kuvira’s eyes are on the grassy field again, her gaze unfocused. “She knelt down in front of me and said she was leaving me here for a little while, because she had a job lined up and there was no one else to take care of me. She said I needed to be good. She would come and get me when she was paid. I stayed at that orphanage for a year, but she never came back. Finally, I ran away, back to our apartment. But there were new people living there and they’d never seen her. After that, I lived on the streets until Suyin took me in a few months later.”

“I’m so sorry,” Asami whispers.

“You don’t have to be. I’m not trying to score pity points.” Kuvira looks away.

“I know.”

Silence falls between them for a moment, then Kuvira says, “Anyway, I thought about my parents at the rally and I realized, if those people knew who I really was, they would want to take their anger out on me because I don’t fit in.”

“Then why did you go?” Asami asks, with a slight shake of her head.

Their gazes lock again and Asami can see the anguished frustration in Kuvira’s narrowed eyes and tensed jaw. “Because, this world is such a terrible place!” Kuvira hisses, emphasizing the last four words by pounding her clenched fist into the ground. “And it just seems to keep getting worse with each bloody year. People struggle to feed themselves, let alone their children. Our world is on the verge of war, and I don’t know what to do about it! There are people like Suyin and you doing good things, but it never seems like enough.”

Kuvira rubs her hands roughly over her face, brushing the stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “I wish there was this great, powerful being who could bring balance to things, but, of course, nobody like that exists.” She takes a deep breath, and opens her mouth as if to say more, then her shoulders droop and she sighs. “I just hate feeling powerless. I wish there was more I could do. Anyway, all of this is to say, when you called those people bullies and fools, I overreacted. I didn’t want you to think I was a bully or a fool. Instead I made an arse of myself, and I’m so sorry.”

Asami reaches over and tucks the stray lock behind Kuvira’s ear. Kuvira goes very still until Asami pulls her hand away. “I understand. Thank you for explaining everything.”

The horrible tension between them feels gone now, lanced like a boil. Kuvira sits up a little straighter and finishes her carrot and jam sandwich. Asami drinks her lemonade, and watches the clouds scud across the sky.

At last, Kuvira breaks the silence. “Are your school friend and her family safe?”

“Susanna and her husband and brother are still in France right now. They want to come to England but they’re still trying to get Mr. and Mrs. Weintraub out of Germany. I told them my father and I will sponsor their emigration, but it’s proving harder than expected.”

“So I’ve heard. Suyin sponsored this family with three young kids and a baby last year and it was a nightmare. They almost couldn’t get a visa for the father. Luckily his brother, Bumi, is an admiral in the Royal Navy. I can ask her for advice, if you’d like.”

Asami assents and silence falls between them again.

“Can I ask you a question?” Kuvira says. When Asami nods she continues, “You said you understood accountability. What did you mean by that?”

Asami puts down the empty bottle and draws her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “I told you my mother died, but actually she was killed. While I was away at public school, my mum went up to Manchester to be with my dad. She was alone, except for a few servants, when an Irish laborer broke into the townhouse. She surprised him, he shoved her, and she fell and hit her head on the fireplace fender. Cracked her skull. She died in hospital.”

“That’s horrible.” Kuvira’s voice is husky with sympathy.

“I don’t think he meant to kill her. He just wanted to steal a few valuables. During the trial he kept apologizing over and over, saying he didn’t mean to. Up until the day he was hanged. The newspapers made a big deal of it at the time, Irish immigrant kills English wife of rich industrialist.”

“So when you said that, you were thinking of Bridget. And then I come along and just spit on your experiences. I’m sorry, Asami,” Kuvira says.

“You didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter. I should’ve treated someone I care about, my friend, better.”

“Well, I forgive you, so you don’t have to keep apologizing,” Asami says firmly.

Kuvira nods. “Okay,” she sighs. “Did you take up self-defense after that?”

“Yes, I wanted to be able to keep myself safe and Dad agreed. He’s always supported me. When I told him I wanted to learn about automobiles, he arranged so I could shadow some of his top engineers. I won’t say he never tells me ‘no’, but he’s never tried to hold me back.” She smiles.

“You should go,” Kuvira says. Asami glances at her, a little startled. Kuvira sits with her legs crossed, leaning back on both hands, a gentle, admiring look on her face. “To Cambridge, I mean. Every time you talk about engines or cars, your whole face lights up. I can tell you really love it.”

A faint blush warms Asami’s cheeks. “I still need to write to the department of mechanical engineering and the mistress of Girton College. With everything going on, I haven’t drafted the letters yet. At least not to my satisfaction. What about you? Is there anything you dream of doing besides teaching?”

Kuvira looks out at the field. “Dance. I’ve been taking classes since I was nine. Ballet, ballroom, swing, tap.” She grins. “Jitterbug. I don’t think I’m small enough to be a ballerina, but I would love to be a dancer, or at least a dance teacher. I do like teaching.”

“You studied ballet? Will you show me?” Asami stops hugging her legs and crosses them beneath her, sitting forward.

“I don’t have the right shoes,” Kuvira says as she stands. “But I could probably show you a little something.” She walks to the edge of the blanket and stands with her arms hanging just in front of her body and her toes pointed outward. Then she lifts one leg up in the air behind her until it is extended in a straight line behind her back, her arms curving up and beside her. “Arabesque.” She bends the extended leg at the knee until it is at a ninety-degree angle. “Attitude.”

The stray lock of hair is free again and flutters against Kuvira’s cheek. Despite this, Kuvira’s body is stone still, just a series of graceful arches and curves. “You look beautiful,” Asami says.

Kuvira’s small smile appears, and she lowers her leg to the ground. “What about you? Do you dance?”

“I get by,” Asami says, with a sudden sinking suspicion.

Kuvira holds both hands out to her. “Show me.”

Asami lets Kuvira pull her to her feet. Holding Kuvira’s left hand in her right, she isn’t sure what to do with her other hand until Kuvira puts her right on Asami’s waist. Asami lays her left hand on Kuvira’s shoulder. With Kuvira leading and counting time, they start to dance a two-step.

“I could teach you to dance if you wanted,” Kuvira says after a few steps. “As payback for the driving lessons.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take up all your free time,” Asami says, watching their feet.

“There’s not a whole lot to do out here in the country anyway, I’d rather spend it with you,” Kuvira says. “I could come over on my half-day off, unless something comes up.”

Asami glances at her. “I’ll accept, if you stay for dinner.”

Kuvira chuckles. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Sato.”

Before she can reply, Asami’s heel lands on the edge of a hole and she stumbles. Kuvira’s arms tense, crushing Asami against her. Her hands squeeze Asami’s tightly. Asami regains her balance for the most part, only to realize how close her face is to Kuvira’s. Following that is the awareness that they are pressed flush together from chest to hips. The muscles of Kuvira’s body feel like steel. Asami’s lips are parted in surprise from her loss of balance, her breath mingling with Kuvira’s. Her heart hammers so loudly, she’s certain Kuvira can hear it as well.

Kuvira’s eyes are lowered. As Asami watches, Kuvira’s head tilts forward slightly. Then her gaze flicks up to meet Asami’s. “Sorry about that,” she says, her voice a little breathless. “I promise I won’t lead you into a hole during lessons.” Her arm around Asami’s waist loosens. She shifts as if about to step away.

Asami keeps ahold of Kuvira’s hand, her gaze on Kuvira’s face. “I thought I told you, no more apologizing,” she whispers. Kuvira’s eyes widen, and as before, when Asami touched her hair, she goes very still.

The rumble of an engine and loud honking of a car horn shatters the moment between them. Kuvira pulls away and Asami releases her hand. Down on the road a black Roll-Royce Phantom III pulls over behind the Bugatti.

“It’s my dad!” Asami says. She helps Kuvira quickly pack the basket before jogging down to the road. Kuvira follows in her wake.

When she nears the Rolls, Hiroshi rolls down the rear window. “Hello, Asami, fancy meeting you here.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek. “I was just out for a picnic with my friend, Kuvira.” With a broad grin, Asami turns and grabs Kuvira’s hand just as she finishes putting the basket and blanket in the Bugatti. Tugging her over to the Rolls-Royce she says, “Kuvira Smith, this is my father Hiroshi Sato.”

<.<

One evening in June, Asami is perusing the Times after dinner when her father comes in. “Care for a game of Chinese chequers?”

“Sure. I’ll be red.” Asami sets the paper aside, picks up her glass of cognac, and joins her father at a small table. Her crimson silk dress whispers with each step. A few minutes pass in silent play.

Asami says, “I’m glad you decided to come home for a little while, it feels like I’ve barely seen you since I finished school.”

“I won’t lie, I’m glad you decided to settle here instead of in London or Manchester,” he says, and sips his scotch.

“You spend half your time at the office and most of the other half at your club,” Asami says. “Besides, it’s summer, there’s nothing to keep anyone in London. And, I happen to like it here. It made sense.” She shrugs.

“All the same, I’m happy knowing you’re safe.” Hiroshi hops one of his pieces over hers and sits back. “Even if it means I can’t see you as often as either of us would like. That’s one of the problems with business. You work hard to provide a living for your family and by consequence don’t see them very much.”

He pauses as Asami hops her piece over two of his. “But I hope I can make it up to you.” When Asami looks up at him, he smiles. “I have an American business associate coming to London in a few days, Mr. Amon. Made his money in the Twenties, before inheriting the business from his father. Would you like to come to Town with me and play hostess?”

“A two-pronged business attack?” Asami asks with a smile. Then a thought occurs to her. “For how long?”

“A few weeks. You can even invite your teacher friend, Miss Smith, if you’d like.”

“As much as I’d like to, she has to work. Most of the teachers have left for the summer and someone needs to stay over to supervise the girls. Kuvira volunteered,” Asami says.

“A shame,” Hiroshi replies, eyes on the board. He moves one of his pieces, blocking her.

Their pieces are arrayed all across the board now, an irregular pattern of red and black. Conversation peters out for several minutes as they try to outmaneuver one another.

Hiroshi finishes his scotch and stands. “Care for another brandy?” he asks. Asami shakes her head, her eyes on the board. Over the glug of liquid, Hiroshi says, “When were you going to tell me about Cambridge?”

Asami looks up, his back is to her. “All I did was make inquiries about enrollment. I haven’t been accepted, yet. I haven’t even heard back from the Head of the Engineering Department.”

“I know. He wrote to me, but I only received the letter today. What makes you want to go to Cambridge?”

“I want to expand my knowledge of mechanics. Most of my knowledge has been gained informally. I’d like to supplement it with formal teaching,” she says, sitting up as he returns to his chair. “Oxford doesn’t let women study mechanical engineering but I thought since you’re a Cambridge man, I might be able to squeeze my way into Cambridge. Why?”

He holds up a hand. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m very pleased that you want to continue your education. I just thought you might like to travel, or relax close to home now that you finished school. You’ve earned it.”

“Well, if war is declared. I don’t think anyone will be able to relax, let alone go to Cambridge,” Asami says, folding her arms across her chest.

“No one wants to risk another war,” Hiroshi replies, eyes on the contents of his glass. “If you go to Cambridge, you’ll have to move away.”

“I had to move all the way to France for finishing school. Compared to that, Cambridge is just around the corner,” Asami says.

“How do you intend to pay for it?” He glances up at her over his spectacles.

This question sets Asami back, and for several seconds she doesn’t answer. A part of her was hoping her father would help with the expenses. _He’s never batted an eye at expensive gifts before, like the Bugatti or the renovation of my garage. There are plenty of young men who go off to university with their fees all paid up and a trust fund in their back pocket. Is he just testing my resolve?_ “I’ll pay for it myself then. I have my money from mother’s estate set by. If needed, I’ll work. I’m not afraid of it.”

Hiroshi takes a drink before replying in a quiet voice. “No Sato is.” Then he smiles at her and nods at the game board. “It’s still your move, my dear.”

>.>

“Go ahead, please,” says the operator.

“Hello, Kuvira?”

“Hello, Asami, it’s good to hear from you. How are things in London?”

“They’re fine. Lady Beifong called on me yesterday, she said to give you her regards and hopes you’re not too bored out there.”

“I’m OK. Are you going to be seeing her again soon?”

“Yes, I invited her to a cocktail party day after tomorrow.”

“Then tell her I’m fine and the girls are keeping me busy. Though I will say that I’ve never seen so many people afflicted with hay fever. I’m starting to worry I might develop it out of sympathy.”

Asami laughs and settles back in her chair, listening as Kuvira brought her up on local gossip.

“Have you heard? They’re putting out a call for women to enlist.” Kuvira hesitates, then says, “I was thinking of joining the Auxiliary Territorial Services.”

“In case of a war?”

“Yeah, I just- I just can’t sit around and do nothing.”

“I understand. Here in London everyone I talk to is either convinced Hitler won’t dare do anything else after Chamberlain’s warning, or they’re ready to go to war tomorrow.” Asami sighs. “This is the busiest I’ve been since finishing school and I feel like I’ve done little of real importance.”

“Where did you take the shipping magnate this week?” Kuvira asks.

“Hyde Park. Dinner at his hotel. Dinner with one of Dad’s business partners. Tower of London. Luckily I did not get another lecture about how America threw off the yoke of English oppression.” Asami sighs. “I met several Americans when I was in school, many of them very proud of their nationality. But I swear, there is something about the way Mr. Amon talks about freedom and equality that is insufferable. It’s not that he’s a blowhard, necessarily. He has a very quiet manner when he speaks.” She pauses to think. “He just, gives off this impression that he’s the cleverest person in the room. But he’s not smug about it. Does that make sense?”

“I think so? For a man who came for business, he’s doing a lot of sight-seeing,” Kuvira says.

Asami purses her lips and muses, “It’s as if he believes he’s better than you are, but he doesn’t feel the need be obvious about it. But he believes it so strongly that it’s an impression he gives anyway. Maybe that’s it.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought very hard about this,” Kuvira replies.

“Well, Dad or I end up spending time with him almost every other day. Today something came up so Dad couldn’t come home for dinner and I had to cancel with Mr. Amon, so he sent me flowers.”

“That was gallant of him.”

“It would have been more gallant if he had sent a delivery boy, rather than his assistant.”

“The one with the thin moustache?”

“And the cold eyes,” Asami concludes, suppressing a shudder.

“How much longer are you going to be in London?”

“We’re coming back in the beginning of August if I have anything to say about it. But Mr. Amon and his bodyguards are coming with us. Dad wants to give him a taste of country living before he goes back to America.”

“It’ll be good to see you again,” Kuvira says warmly. “I’ve missed you.”

Asami blushes. “I’ve missed you too.”

<.<

On her first Wednesday back in the country, Asami meets Kuvira for dance lessons in the ballroom of the big house. It’s a large room with polished oak floors and gilded mirrors on three of the four walls. The fourth overlooks the garden through large, many-paned windows.

For practice, Asami is wearing one of her older day dresses, made of Egyptian cotton and colored a deep sunset orange. It’s only a season old and she likes having a couple frocks that she will not mind sweating in; and Kuvira makes her sweat.

“You didn’t keep up with your stretches while you were in London, did you?” Kuvira says.

“I did some,” Asami says. She sits on the floor, one leg extended, the other bent beneath her, stretching to touch her fingertips to her toes. Kuvira crouches behind her and gently presses her hands to Asami’s back, leaning into her stetch. Asami touches her toe.

“Uh-huh. You were able to do that without my help before you left,” Kuvira says and backs away.

Asami sits up, the deep burn in her hip joint fading. “OK, not every day. But most days. I had a lot to do.”

“I know, and now you’re going to be sorry,” Kuvira says with a small smile. She stands and holds out her hands to Asami, pulling her to her feet. Kuvira is wearing a pair of worn blue slacks and a faded white blouse.

Asami smiles down at her. “Are you about to teach me a lesson?”

Still holding Asami’s hands, Kuvira looks up at her. “You do have a lot to make up for.”

The ballroom door opens. They step apart, hands falling to their sides. In the doorway stands Mr. Amon. Even out in the country, his appearance is sophisticated. From his brown hair, combed back with pomade, to the crisp, smooth lines of his dark brown suit and red tie, his look can only be described as slick. He offers them a small smile as he crosses the room. Again, Asami notes that it doesn’t quite warm his glacial blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupting something?” he says. Back beside the door, Mr. Amon’s assistant, his black moustache waxed and wearing dark gray, sidles into the room and stands with his hands clasped behind him.

“We were just about to start our dance practice,” Asami says, turning her gaze to Mr. Amon’s inscrutable face. The frustrated urge to keep an eye on both of them at once coils in her stomach.

He turns to Kuvira whose eyes flicker from the assistant to his employer. The knot in Asami’s stomach eases in the wake of a wave of relief. _I’m glad she’s here beside me_ , she thinks. Mr. Amon speaks, drawing her back to the conversation: “And you must be the teacher, Kuvira Smith. I’ve heard much about you.”

Kuvira gives him a small nod. “Mr. Amon.” Her gaze flicks back to the door. “And staff.” The assistant does not respond.

Mr. Amon turns to Asami. “You need a partner, don’t you?” He looks at Kuvira. “May I cut in?” His lips curve further at his joke as he leans forward, reaching for Asami’s hand.

“We usually practice together,” Kuvira says, taking half a step back before her posture stiffens. She looks at Asami.

“That must be frustrating for you,” Mr. Amon replies.

“It’s alright,” Asami says, looking at Kuvira. She’s danced with him before, but unfortunately can’t think of an excuse to say ‘no’ at the moment.

Mr. Amon takes her hand in his. His touch isn’t cold, like she always expects, but hot. It still surprises her. His hand on her waist, Asami puts her other hand on his upper arm. He looks at Kuvira. “We’re ready, teacher.”

Kuvira walks to the nearby phonograph and turn it on. A waltz begins. She starts counting time and Mr. Amon leads Asami around the room. Kuvira stands in the centre, watching them.

Her eyes miss nothing. She corrects Mr. Amon when he misses a step. Even stopping them when he messes up a second time. Next, she stops them time to correct Asami’s posture. The dance continues.

After some time, Asami becomes aware that his hand on her waist has shifted. It’s not until they turn that she catches it happening. He uses the motion of turning her to slide his hand down her waist and pull her a little closer. She draws breath to tell him off.

“Stop,” Kuvira orders, appearing at Asami’s elbow. She seizes Mr. Amon’s wrist and pulls it off Asami’s waist.

Asami freezes. Her eyes are on the gilt, mirrored wall behind Mr. Amon. In it’s reflection, the assistant also stands frozen in mid-step, one hand reaching into his jacket.

“Your hand needs to be higher,” Kuvira says, voice cool. Mr. Amon turns his gaze from assistant to Kuvira. He doesn’t resist as she places his hand just below Asami’s shoulder blade. “Start again,” Kuvira says, stepping back. The assistant resumes his place by the door, both hands at his sides.

Mr. Amon leads Asami around the room one more time, then stops and bows. “After all the exercise, I feel thirsty. Would you care for a drink, Miss Sato?”

Asami dips a slight curtsy in return. “Thank you, but no, Mr. Amon. I have work to do in my garage until dinner.”

He smiles and bids Kuvira goodbye. It’s not until she hears the door close that Asami takes a deep breath and lets it out. She bows her head, letting her hair fall like a curtain around her face.

Kuvira strides up to her and touches her arm. “Asami?”

Asami straightens and pushes her hair out of her eyes. She takes Kuvira’s hand in hers, holding it tight so Kuvira won’t feel her trembling. “Let’s take the Alvis for a long drive. I haven’t been driving in weeks,” she says.

Kuvira’s face is serious, but she follows Asami without comment.

>.>

“Alright, I’m ready,” Kuvira says and opens the door.

Asami gasps a little and claps her hands together. Kuvira is wearing a silky gown of emerald green. It’s sleeveless with a scoop neckline that just reveals the curves of her collarbones. At Asami’s insistence, she turns. With her hair tied back in it’s customary bun, the cut of the dress shows off the strong column of Kuvira’s neck. Modest draping in the back leaves her muscled shoulders and shoulder blades bare. The skirt of the dress falls in sleek contours over Kuvira’s waist and hips to just brush her toes.

“Looks like the shop got your measurements just right,” Asami says, grinning.

“I made sure to be as precise as possible when I gave them to you,” Kuvira says turning back around. “Since you would insist on buying this for me.”

Asami links her arm with Kuvira’s. “And I told you, it’s a gift, but if it really makes you feel better, think of it as me being selfish because now you can come with me to all the fancy dinner parties, like this one.” Asami is wearing a new gown as well. It’s burgundy crêpe trimmed with gold satin piping along the halter and low v-neckline, fitted to her torso and hips with a skirt that flares to the floor and rustles when she walks.

The gowns might seem like an indulgence. The prices are higher than they were last season. The manager at her favorite shop lamented the rising silk costs and scarcity as it becomes requisitioned to make parachutes and other gear for the Royal Armed Forces.

_“I lived through the Great War, Miss Sato,” the manager says in her hoarse voice, cigarette dangling from her fingers. “So I don’t mean to complain. Hard times always hit the luxury markets first. But it’s an easy sacrifice. We don’t need them, not really.”_

The gowns might be a little indulgent, but Asami means every word. She sidles closer to Kuvira as they begin their descent of the staircase. When she glances down to lift the hem of her skirt, her loose, waved hair falls over their linked arms. Kuvira keeps step with her and doesn’t pull away.

As the reach the bottom of the stairs, the door to Hiroshi’s study opens. He smiles wistfully when he sees them. “You both look very beautiful. Asami, you look just like your mother.”

Asami smiles, feeling a pang of pleasure at the comparison. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I know our guests will be here soon, but may I speak to you a moment? It won’t take very long,” he asks.

She disengages from Kuvira. “I’ll be right back, you can go ahead without me.”

Inside the study is Mr. Amon, looking through the window. He turns when they enter. Hiroshi closes the door and sits down behind his desk. Glancing back, Asami sees the assistant standing in a nearby corner.

“Very pretty,” Mr. Amon says, looking at Asami.

She glances between Mr. Amon and her father. “Thank you. What did you need, Dad?”

“Mr. Amon wants a word with you.”

Feeling a little annoyed, Asami turns back to Mr. Amon. He comes over to her. “Miss Sato, as my time here in England draws to a close, I want to thank you for being such a great hostess. You made this trip very memorable.” He holds out his hand to her.

“You’re very welcome,” Asami replies, and after a moment’s hesitation, puts her hand in his.

Mr. Amon covers her hand with his own. “I’ve been talking to your father and wonder if you would be interested in returning the favor. Coming to America. Maybe as my fiancee?”

Asami’s train of thought on a way to free her hand comes to a crashing halt. “Excuse me?”

“Noatak has made you an offer,” Hiroshi says, leaning forward, his elbows braced on the desk.

She looks from her father to Mr. Amon and tugs on her hand. “I’m very flattered, Mr. Amon, but-”

“I understand. It’s sudden, and we haven’t known each other for very long. Hiroshi and I have discussed it, but I’m sure you’d like time to think. I don’t mind,” Mr. Amon interrupts, his voice as cool and dispassionate as ever. He does not release her hand.

Asami opens her mouth to tell him ‘no’, but this time Hiroshi interrupts: “Give us a moment, will you, Noatak?”

Mr. Amon frees her hand and Asami snatches it back, folding her arms across her chest. “Of course, Hiroshi.” He departs, his assistant following like a shadow.

Asami rounds on her father and hisses, “You _discussed_ this with him? What were you thinking? I’m not going to marry him!”

“Think about this rationally, Asami,” Hiroshi says. “Noatak is a very wealthy, very powerful man. He’s well-connected. And if war happens- His brother is a politician, Noatak tells me that the attitude across the pond is one of isolationism. If war breaks out in Europe, America wants to stay out of it.”

“For the last two months you’ve said you don’t believe a war will happen. Now you’re using it as an excuse to marry me off to some American...jackal? You can’t have it both ways, Dad!”

He holds out his hands to her. “I’m not trying to have it both ways, Asami. The Nazis and the Soviets have signed a nonaggression pact. There’s no telling what will happen if you stay in England. Noatak will give you a good life. I just want you to be safe.”

The look of gentle pleading on her father’s face takes Asami aback for a moment. Then she frowns. “I thought this was supposed to be a business trip.”

“It is, in part. Noatak and I have been negotiating how to more closely combine our business ventures.”

“So you’re going to throw me in as part of your deal?” Asami gasps. She wants to scream. Her heart races and for a moment, she feels like she can’t breathe. “This isn’t the damned Middle Ages. You can’t marry me off just to secure part of your Future Industries empire!” Then, her anger vanishes and Asami just wants to cry. “I thought you loved me.”

“I love you more than my life, Asami,” Hiroshi says, his voice quiet. “That’s why I’m telling you to take Noatak’s offer. He’ll take care of you almost as well as I can.”

Asami shakes her head and starts backing toward the door. “ _Mr. Amon_ takes care of no one but himself. Whether war comes or not, I don’t need him. And I certainly don’t need you.”

“Asami-” Before Hiroshi can finish whatever he was about to say, Asami opens the door and hurries out into the corridor, slamming it shut behind her. She turns her head left then right, before striding down the corridor and through the library door, closing and locking it behind her. Hiroshi has a key, but the lock will still give her enough warning to compose herself and face him if she needs to. Right now, Asami can’t bear to look at him.

Hugging herself, Asami crosses to the cold fireplace. Tears gather in her eyes and she lowers her head, her hair falling forward around her face. She feels numb and achy all at the same time. Her father’s final words _“I love you more than my life. That’s why I’m telling you to take Noatak’s offer”_ play in her head like a broken phonograph.

“-ami? Asami?” The voice, not Hiroshi’s, seems to come from a distance. Strong, familiar hands grip her arms, turning her around. Asami sees obsidian black brows, a beauty mark, and deep green eyes. Eyes that remind her of summer.

“Asami, what’s wrong? You’re white as a ghost, and so cold,” Kuvira says, rubbing her arms.

“What are you doing in here?” Asami asks, unable to remember if she checked that the library was occupied before locking the door.

“I decided to wait in here instead, when Mr. Amon came into the parlour. What happened?”

“My father wants me to marry Mr. Amon,” Asami says. Kuvira’s hands go very still. “He says he wants me to go to America to be safe. He’s trying to sell me out, Kuvira.” Her voice becomes choked with tears and on impulse she throws her arms around Kuvira’s neck. “I’ve never seen him like this. I don’t know what he might do, but I don’t want to go.”

Kuvira wraps her up in a tight embrace. “We’ll think of something,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to Asami’s temple.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Asami pulls back a little so she can see Kuvira’s face. Kuvira smiles up at her and gently brushes a tear from Asami’s cheek. “I don’t want you to go either.”

Asami tilts her head down and kisses Kuvira. It is something, Asami feels, that would have happened sooner or later. However, as Kuvira pulls her closer, returning the kiss with such exquisite tenderness, she is grateful that it came when it did.

When they break for air, Kuvira leads Asami to a leather sofa. Haltingly at first, Asami relates the whole of her conversation with her father.

“It’s so surreal,” Asami says, drying her eyes with a handkerchief Kuvira produces from her brassiere. “Am I overreacting?”

“I don't know,” Kuvira says. “What is it that you feel you need?”

Asami hesitates a moment, then she says, “I need to feel safe. And I don’t feel like that here anymore.” Her hand tightens around Kuvira’s.

“Then we’ll need to get you safe,” Kuvira says. “I already gave the headmistress and Su notice, but I don’t leave for training until next week. That should give us enough time to get settled elsewhere.”

Asami nods. “Thank you.”

Kuvira cups her cheek, then leans in and kisses her. Asami’s stomach is a knot of anxiety and betrayal, but every time her lips touch Kuvira’s, her spirit sings.

That night, after the party, Asami packs a case and changes into dark clothes. Once she is certain the house has gone to sleep, she sneaks downstairs.

She’s picking her way through the kitchen garden when a quiet voice says, “Going somewhere, Miss Sato?”

Asami whirls to see Mr. Amon’s assistant approach from the shadows around the side of the house.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Asami says, her mind racing. She plants her feet and shifts her grip on the case.

“My employer knows where I am. Does your father know where you are?”

A shadow shifts behind him. It’s Kuvira. Asami doesn't reply.

“I think you should come with me,” he says and reaches for her arm.

Kuvira lunges for him. The assistant whips around, reaching into his jacket. Asami brings her heavy suitcase crashing down on his head. He crumples to the ground and remains still. In his right hand is a small pistol. Asami clutches the bag, worry giving way to fear, then anger. Kuvira hesitates, kicks the pistol out of reach, then touches his throat.

“He’s alive.”

Asami sighs, at first surprised then relieved by her sense of relief. She grabs Kuvira’s hand and they run to the garage. She wants to kiss Kuvira, reassure herself that they’re OK, but there’s no time. They pack the Alvis, shift it into neutral, and push it outside before locking the garage doors. Asami gets into the driver’s seat and slides her key into the ignition. Her vision of the darkened curve of the steering wheel blurs.

Kuvira shifts on the seat beside her, and touches Asami’s leg. “Do you want me to drive?” she asks, her voice quiet.

Asami shakes her head and swipes the tears away. “No,” she whispers and turns the key. “This is something I need to do.”

The engine catches. Asami’s grip on the steering wheel is tighter than normal as they pull onto the dark road. But Kuvira’s hand is still a comforting weight on her thigh.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought. 
> 
> This story was part of a writer duel of feels with my friend Michelle Magly. We have a three episode special on our podcast Chicks n Fics. You can listen to Michelle lose her shit as she reads this story with very little context (title, pairing, and setting). We also discuss the writing of it. If you're curious about the process. Chicks n Fics is a podcast where we read and discuss fanfiction and writing. You can find past episodes (including our reading of Republic City Blues) at chicksnfics.tumblr.com or on our soundcloud. 
> 
> I am also considering writing a sequel that would follow Asami's and Kuvira's experiences during the war and will update this one if I do.


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